


Sucker Punch

by versigny



Series: Halloween Drabbles 2k17 [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: F/M, Face Punching, Halloween, Haunted Houses, Tumblr Prompt, boy had no idea what was coming to him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 07:50:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12476816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/versigny/pseuds/versigny
Summary: In which Kwon Soonyoung sees stars.





	Sucker Punch

**Author's Note:**

> PROMPT: "hoshi is a haunted house worker and reader accidentally punches him in the face ahaha"

It literally felt like you were going to die.

You could feel your heart pounding in your bones, down to the marrow and up to your head, making your vision pulse bright with adrenaline. Every limb and digit and hair on your body trembled, and it took a profound, numb effort to take even the tiniest footstep forward – because there was no turning back. Doors were shut and walls sealed off the further you went in, and your shitty, worthless, drunk friends had left you behind long and agonizing minutes ago since you were  _taking too long_. The only thing left was for you to start crying, and every distant shriek and cackle that echoed from deep in the house – a house you  _paid_  to go into, you remember with hysterical horror, you paid actual money to experience pure hell –  only brought you one step closer to that reality.

Most of your journey is spent shaking and whimpering and whining in hopeless fear. You sprint where you can, covering your eyes and pummeling past the areas that are designed to make you feel the worst and tumbling skittishly through the ones that have you ill at ease anyway. There are no real safe zones in this house.

The pinnacle comes at a fake wall.

After barely making it through a mirror labyrinth conscious, you reach what can only be called a dead end. Everything has closed up behind you firmly, and you are surrounded by nothing but old wood and wallpaper when you begin to hyperventilate again.

Kwon Soonyoung lingers behind a false wall, perfectly giddy; he really does enjoy his job, no matter how pathetically it pays, and he’d already heard the enthused whispers and giggles about one of the last people in of the night – a girl, more easily spooked than anyone else he’d ever seen, and abandoned by her friends. He hadn’t cared much for them (they were too inebriated to get properly scared), but you? Well, after watching you for several minutes, he was ready to die from excitement. This would be  _rich_.

There was nothing quite so fun as scaring cute girls.

Covered in blood that contrasted starkly against his shock-blond hair he vibrated at the cue – the lights in your little room shutting off without warning – before he opened the panel and crept in with you.

His voice was all but a whisper behind the back of your neck.

“ _Boo_.”

And then he was seeing stars.

Chest heaving, you stood slack-jawed, the scream long having left your throat empty and raw; your knuckles would have been white if it wasn’t for the rosy smear over them, and you couldn’t unclench your fist as you spluttered incoherently, wide-eyed and wetly blinking at the stranger. He looked perfectly dazed rather than in pain, and blinked back at you as he dumbly raised fingers to his face to touch a fresh trail of scarlet dripping from his nose.

Whoever he was, he was starstruck. You might have actually given this guy a concussion.

“Oh…” you croak, voice sounding entirely not like your own, “…my god. I… am so sorry. I’m so sorry! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod–”

The lights flickered again and you cut yourself off with a warbling squeal of fright, and stumbled backwards into a new entrance. By the time your eyes readjusted, you were once more in a hallway and meant to be finishing your delightful adventure.

After socking an innocent worker in the nose, you were surprisingly more composed. Maybe the obsessive guilt steadily working itself into a new trauma in your head was helping you muscle through the last few scares until the end – you could do nothing but dwell anxiously and in blank horror that you had given him a nosebleed, that he might need to go to the hospital, that you might have  _broken_ his nose, that the police might be waiting when you got out – and then suddenly the exit was there and two Chinese vampires later, you were free.

There was no police and no ambulance. The employees waved you farewell amicably – no signs they had heard of your violent outburst, then – and you finally checked your phone to see that your friends had gone ahead and Ubered home because one of them threw up. Nice.

It worked out, actually; it gave you plenty of time to sit and wait until closing, because there was no way you were leaving without apologizing one thousand times to the poor worker.

Lucky for you, there was only two groups left, and midnight had just rolled around.

Questionably lucky was the fact that a staff member you did not recognize wandered your way, smiling faintly.

“Hello,” said a black-haired man; he was broad-shouldered and oddly handsome with long eyelashes and a velvety voice. “You must be the one that clocked Hoshi.”

“Oh, god,” you bemoan.

“I’m glad you’re here, actually! He’s – oh, shit, please don’t cry! He’s fine! Seriously, the kid had it coming and I think you did us all a favor – but really, really, he’s okay, and we’ve all seen worse! Would you be alright with coming back around to see him? He wanted to make sure you were okay, too. I promise everything is safe in the back, no scares.”

A minute later, you were gawking at the very messy, roughshod behind-the-scenes of Seventeen Nights of Horror. There was stale pizza, bags of garbage, dirt and blood and plywood and horrifying displays of props and costumes scattered like a bomb had gone off in the place. Several workers who your animal brain recognized in recent familiar horror gave you appreciative nods and grins, all of them turning to laugh privately in the knowledge that you had landed a fast one on their beloved “Hoshi”. You even earned a few thumbs up, and could do nothing but grimace and blush hotly under the scrutiny.

The leader of the circus of boys, whose name you learned was Seungcheol, however, was nothing but perfectly polite. Rounding a corner, he kindly nodded you towards a set of picnic tables outside in the cool night air, and your gaze snapped to the figure covered in crimson holding a tissue to their nose.

“Thanks,” you deadpanned, drained of all composure. And then Seungcheol left you alone with your unwitting victim.

You had just sucked in a breath when he sensed you, and you finally stared into the surprisingly boyish, handsome face of Hoshi.

“It’s you!” he yelled with utter glee, jumping up from his seat and closing the distance between you instantly. You stumbled backwards, heart racing, and your senses took in too much at once – he was taller than you thought he’d be, and up close his eyes were sharp and pretty, glittering like moonlight on black lake waters, with smooth skin dappled by endless, endless blood. His nose was particularly scarlet, and you all but collapsed into a stream of “ _I’msosorry_ I’msosorryI’msosorryI’msosorry–!” before he distracted you with pealing laughter.

“Noooo, no, it’s totally okay! I’m fine, see? Man do you have a mean right hook though, I didn’t expect that at ALL! I thought, ah, I can just sneak in, I won’t even have to yell – and I was right, right? Mostly! – and BAM! You were  _amazing_. I don’t think anybody is ever gonna let me live this one down. I’m Soonyoung, by the way, and I’m rambling, and… ahhhh…”

You can hardly react, let alone remember your  _own_  name when his cool hands gently wrap around yours. His gaze is unspeakably tender as he smiles crookedly and drops his tone to a softer, more coaxing mumble. “I wanted to be sure  _you_  were okay. Did you hurt your hand?”

His thumb drifts soothingly over your throbbing knuckles – you hadn’t even realized they hurt at all until he touched them.

“I’m… I’m fine,” you breathe out, throat tight from your heart presumably occupying it. “I… I’m really glad y-you’re okay, Soonyoung, I feel so  _bad_ –”

“ _Please_  don’t feel bad. You really made my night. I can’t say getting punched by a pretty girl is the worst part of my job,” he all but purred, and you felt your ears grow hot at the sentiment of  _pretty_. 

“Yes, well,” you lick your lips, forgetting again who he was and who you were and how to act like a normal person in such a setting, “I n-normally try not to punch attractive Halloween worker boys, b-but…”

The words hang thick and heavy between you; by the time it dawns on you what you’re admitting in turn, it’s far too late to take it back or play it off with a nervous, unattractive laugh (even if you do anyway). There’s no mistaking the glint in Soonyoung’s eyes now, nor the way he stands the smallest bit closer to you, teasing your personal space warmly.

“Ahhhh… is that so?” he hums considerately. “What is it you normally do, then? I try to ask the pretty girls that assault me out on dates. It’s a very fun way to get to know somebody after they’ve given you a nosebleed.”

Was this really happening?

Discreetly, you dig your nails into your palm, and feel a twinge of pain in your knuckles and a bite in your skin. Yup, this was really happening. You had really landed yourself in this position.

“You’re being too nice to me,” you demure, and Soonyoung groans.

“You’re being adorable. Is that a no? If it’s a no I’ll leave you be, I promise–”

“Do you want to get pancakes?”

There’s a pause, and the grin that slowly lights up and takes over Soonyoung’s face is one that has you almost certainly falling in love with him.

“I can get most of the blood off in ten minutes. Wait right here, Miss Mayweather.”

 

Two hours later, you’re home, breathless, and in a daze. There’s a new number in your phone with a mildly terrifying contact picture, and a text from it:  _thank you for everything goodnight sleep well~_ followed by a dozen happy and bedtime emojis.

Your screen times out, and you can’t help but smile stupidly as you catch your reflection – there’s still blood on your lips, and they tingle so  _good_.


End file.
